Wrath of the Fallen by Eve Archer
Chapter Six
Dominick
“You’re serious about this?” I stood in front of the towering, arched doorway, the number 41 attached to the beige stones over the door.
“You wished a place the archangels would never suspect,” Rami said, sweeping his arms wide as we stood on the Via Dolorosa or the Way of the Cross. The old path that retraced the steps of Jesus on his way to crucifixion was now a street lined with shops and paved with stones made slick and smooth by the passage of so many feet.
I rubbed a hand across my brow and glanced at the tourists and religious pilgrims making their way down the narrow street flanked by pale stone buildings. Shoes shuffled across worn cobblestones and heads bowed as murmurs of prayers rose into the air, which held the faintest whiff of incense. “But Jerusalem?” I pinned him with a questioning look. “A convent?”
“It’s called a pilgrim house. Basically, a guest house.”
“But there are nuns.” I lowered my voice as a woman with short, gray hair exited the building, a scarf wrapped loosely around her head. She nodded and smiled as she passed.
“Sisters, yes,” Rami admitted. “But they were gracious when I inquired about a last-minute booking.”
I lifted an eyebrow at him, waiting for him to continue.
“And I offered them a generous donation if they could find room for the four of us.” He gestured to Ella and Sara, who stood behind us, peering around with wide eyes, both groggy from the early-morning flight and startled by the bustling ancient city.
“You’re right that Gabriel wouldn’t think to look for me here. Even I’ve never had a fetish about nuns.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” Rami clapped a hand on my back. “I knew you’d come around to the wisdom of this.”
I shook my head, not sure if it was wise or just brazen. “What’s most surprising is that Gad suggested this. How does he, of all people, know of a convent in the Muslim quarter of the old city?”
Rami inclined his head toward the tiles embedded into the stone wall nearby that read Via Dolorosa in English, Arabic, and Hebrew. “This city was not always so old. The basilica within the walls of the pilgrim house is built over the Lithostrotos.”
My breath caught in my throat. “Roman streets?”
“You remember that Gadriel spent a great deal of time here during the Roman occupation. He says these were the streets he walked.” Rami looked back at the imposing arch. “He’s returned over the years. I think seeing the old paving stones makes him nostalgic.”
I frowned. I didn’t spend much time dwelling on the past, since there was so much of it, and I feared I would go mad if I thought of all the ways the world had changed before my eyes. But I understood the pull of nostalgia, and the desire for evidence that your memories were real. “As long as Ella will be safe.”
“Even if Gabriel is desperate, as you suspect, he would not dare attack a convent and a basilica.”
I was not so sure, but I held my tongue, hoping rather than believing that Rami was right about the archangel’s sense of honor. I let out a heavy sigh. “Lead the way.”
We progressed through the high arch, Ella slipping her hand into mine as we entered a foyer with more thick, stone walls and arches. A wooden reception desk greeted us, along with a woman with dark hair pulled into a loose bun. She wasn’t dressed in traditional nun raiment, but I flinched, nonetheless.
“Welcome,” her voice carried the soft lilt of an accent that was at once familiar. She was a native to the area and had learned her excellent English after Arabic. Her eyes widened slightly at the sight of our group, but she quickly regained her equilibrium.
I’d forgotten that Rami and I were dressed as we usually were, in perfectly tailored, expensive, dark suits that exuded power and wealth. Probably not the usual attire for guests staying at a religious guesthouse.
“Is this a…?” Ella whispered to me. She peered around at the black-and-white, framed photos hanging on the walls, while Rami confirmed our booking with the woman behind the desk.
“Convent? Yes.” I answered, gaining me a look of surprise from her and a snort of laughter from her friend.
“Angels staying in a convent in Jerusalem?” Sara muttered. “It’s a little on the nose, don’t you think?”
“Fallen angels,” I corrected. “There are few of us who frequent holy sites.”
“Right, although Ella isn’t technically Fallen, is she?”
This statement made me stop. She wasn’t. Ella wasn’t a full angel, but she wasn’t Fallen. I swallowed hard, regret already churning in my gut. Yet.
“This way.” The woman stepped from behind the desk and waved for us to follow her, her gaze flitting for a moment to my hand holding Ella’s.
Guilt gnawed at me as we progressed through the building, the hallway to the rooms boasting more stone arches—windows that allowed light to stream inside. I hadn’t bothered with guilt in centuries—there hadn’t been a point to it when one was already damned—and the prickling sensation was not pleasant.
I told myself I was protecting Ella, but was I really doing all this to keep her? Was my obsession with her so all-consuming that I was willing to drag her down into the depths of sin with me? Was I going to be the cause of yet another angel to fall from grace?
“Dom?”
I jerked my head to Rami and dropped Ella’s hand, noticing that we’d paused, and everyone was staring at me. “I apologize. I was struck by the magnificent architecture of your building.”
It was clear Rami didn’t buy my excuse, but the woman leading us beamed at me. “It was built in 1856.”
“This will be your room,” Rami said, motioning to the door that stood open.
I peeked inside and fought the urge to laugh. The room was as simple and austere as the rest of the convent, with chunky ivory stones for walls, a wide window that the sun shone through, and a pair of twin beds, covered in crisp, white sheets and brown blankets draped across the feet. Compared to any of the properties we owned throughout the world, and even the ancient island fortress, these accommodations were spartan.
“Charming,” I said, returning the attendant’s eager smile.
“I have two rooms reserved for your party.” She glanced at the four of us, confusion crossing her face. “With two beds in each.”
Sara’s gaze swept to Rami, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “Really?”
His cheeks flushed. “There were only two rooms left.”
Oddly, a wave of relief rushed over me. “My brother and I will share, and the ladies will have their own room.”
The attendant’s shoulders relaxed, and she let out a nervous laugh. “Very good.” She beckoned for Ella and Sara to follow her. “I’ll show the women to their room.”
Ella shot me a look but was pulled away by Sara before she could argue.
Rami stood next to me, as we watched the women being shown to a nearby room. “Is everything okay, Dom?”
I jerked my gaze to him. “Why do you ask?”
He gave me a knowing look. “I have known you for thousands of years. I know when you are conflicted. It doesn’t happen very often anymore, so it’s more noticeable.” He hesitated. “Is it about the rooms? We can change the arrangements, if—“
I brushed away his concern with a flick of my wrist. “And have Sara murder you in your sleep? I wouldn’t do that to you.”
A grin teased the corner of his mouth. “I hope she would not murder me.”
I eyed the dark-haired woman with her arm linked through Ella’s, recalling her many threats to me. “I wouldn’t count on it.”
“Then what has you out of sorts?”
I pivoted to face my friend, lowering my voice to a hush. “Ella is the child of an angel.”
He nodded as if I was a simpleton. “If Gabriel is to be believed, yes.”
I pinned him with my gaze. “Our children with our human wives were also Demi-angels.”
Rami’s pupils flared, then he gave a curt shake of his head. “That was different.” He cut his eyes to Ella down the hallway. “She is clearly not Nephilim.”
I tasted the bitter tang of bile in the back of my throat as I remembered the monstrous offspring that had resulted from our defiant mating with humans. They’d rained destruction on the planet and had been an embodiment of our sin—a scourge that the archangels had used to argue for our expulsion. What was left of the Nephilim had either been cast into the fires of hell or become demons for Mastema to rule on Earth.
“But she isn’t just a human with an angelic mark,” I argued. “She’s something else entirely.”
“And that’s a problem?”
“What if she can be more?” I whispered. “What if being the love child of the archangel Gabriel makes her more divine than human? Can I really live with myself if I tie her to me, a fallen celestial?”
Rami frowned, his dark eyebrows pulling together. “You’re letting Gabriel get to you. Ella has free will like all of us. She’s chosen you, even though she now knows that she’s part angel. If she can live with her choice, shouldn’t you be able to?”
I choked back the bile that threatened to rise. “What if I can’t live with the idea of binding another angel to my damnation?”
